


Stages of Grief

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Character Death, Death, Hospitals, M/M, sjips week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sjin died.  Sips mourns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stages of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Sjips Week's Weeping Wednesday! Heavily based off of real life experiences.

It had happened so fast, but it had seemed an eternity.  Sips had heard of the stages of grief, but he had never quite understood them until he experienced them himself.

Denial.

It was a prank.  Surely, it was a prank gone too far.  His buddies had finally crossed the line of what was appropriate to joke about, and he'd been their victim.  Surely they had the influence to coax a total stranger into pretending to work at the hospital and have her call Sips with "bad news".  He felt chills run along his spine, and he felt cold.

Anger.

Yelling at the woman on the phone hadn't helped anyone.  She had expected it, as so many times before, which only furthered Sips' frustration.  How dare she sit there all calm and _understanding_ when she'd just made the worst joke in the world?  As he raged at her, he felt his chest tighten, as if something was missing, as if someone had stolen his most vital organ.

Bargaining.

Once the doctor had convinced him she was not there to wind him up, he fell into complete silence.  His previously shifting eyes had gone still; he felt unable to look away from an empty space on the wall; unable to blink.  Once he got his voice back, he pleaded:  "Are you sure it's him?" "Maybe you have the wrong number?" "Is there something I can do to help?"  "I'll do whatever I can, just make sure he survives!"

The doctor could promise him nothing.

* * *

 

Somehow, with his thoughts flitting about like mad, he managed to navigate through traffic and get to the hospital.  Upon arrival he was greeted by a nurse, who asked him his business.  He explained, and the nurse went to fetch the doctor he had spoken to on the phone.

Soon, Sips found himself in a small waiting room, with sofas, coffee available, little decorations on the walls and tables.  Sips hated everything about the room.  How dare it look so neat and inviting when he was sitting there, his hands shaking, being more miserable than he'd ever been?

He looked up as the door opened, and in came two women and a man.  One of the women introduced herself as the doctor he had spoken to on the phone.  She was as short and chubby as he was, with very short hair and plain appearance.  He didn't notice much else, including her name.  The other two, presumably nurses, didn't introduce themselves, but offered sympathetic smiles.

He didn't have the energy to sneer sarcastically at them.

The doctor explained to him what had happened: the patient had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time.  His car had been totaled.  The other driver had run into him, and nobody knew what else had happened, because the other driver was also at the hospital, knocked unconscious.  The doctor turned to one of the nurses — the woman — and asked her to explain to Sips what would happen next.

The nurse's appearance distracted Sips a tad;  she must have been a victim of some sort of accident.  A fire?  Acid?  He knew better than to ask.  She was very beautiful, even if her hands and arms were discoloured and smooth, and her right eye had a light blue pupil and a white iris.  He shook himself back to reality, not wanting to miss out what she was telling him.

"—cranium fractured upon impact, little shards of the skull have embedded themselves into his brain.  There is absolutely nothing we can do to get them out.  But I want you to know what he felt nothing.  He was knocked comatose instantly."

Reality had begun to dawn on him now.

Depression.

He closed his mouth and tried to keep back the tears, that forced their way through and streamed down his face.  He dropped his head into his hands, gritting his teeth as the tears kept coming, his nose becoming stuffed with snot that threatened come through as well.  Despite his best efforts there were whimpers and grunts escaping him, as he stared intensely as the floor.

For a few minutes, nobody said a word.  The male nurse offered him tissues, which he gladly took.  The nurse with the burn wounds eventually said, in a soothing voice, "Is there anyone you can call?  Friends, family?"

Not wanting to to bring the topic of family into all of this, he managed to croak, "Friends."

"Would you like me to call them for you?"

After a second's decision, he nodded quietly and handed her his mobile phone.  He told her who to call, and she left the room in order to make the calls in question.

* * *

 

His friends came to the hospital as quickly as they could.  These were the friends Sips had suspected of pranking him earlier that evening, but looking at the worried expressions in their faces, he couldn't imagine that they'd ever even joke about something like this.  He felt guilty for suspecting them.  Upon seeing him, they all ran towards him, and the shortest of them gave him a hug, which was such a rarity that Sips began sobbing again.

Trott didn't mind the other soaking his shoulder with snot and tears; it was the least he could do for him.

Sips didn't notice until he had finished sobbing that his three friends were also crying, their faces distorted into grimaces of trying to keep from breaking down.  This was the only time Sips had ever seen Smith look ugly.  He could only imagine how awful he himself must have looked.

* * *

They sat in the waiting room for a while, simply talking about experiences they'd had with the patient.  On and off, they were laughing, then crying, then laughing, crying, laughing, on occasion reminiscing of nice moments they've had with him, and Sips found himself smiling, despite how he felt.

He found himself laughing bitterly at the ridiculous amount of used tissue paper they had made.  Look at this mess, how the fuck did we manage to make this shit, there's no way there's this much snot inside us.

They sat there for an hour, desperately trying to pretend nothing was wrong, until the door to the waiting room opened, and another nurse poked their head in.  Having gotten their full attention simply from opening the door, she asked if Sips would like to see him.

Sips felt his insides twist.  Of course he'd like to see him, but... would he like to see him like _this_?  What could he expect to see?

He closed his mouth tightly, then nodded stiffly.

Would he like to have his friends with him?

Nod.

He needed them more than ever now.

* * *

 

What struck him first was that he was pale as a sheet.  He'd always been pale, especially when he wasn't out tending to his crops, but this was ridiculous.  He had been hooked up to various tubes, one large one shoved down his throat, presumably to keep him breathing.  His head had been heavily bandaged.

Sips felt the tears return, but he said nothing.  Slowly, as if in a nightmare, he walked up to him.  It _was_ him.

"Sjin..."

Up to this point he had clung to a tiny hope that they might have misidentified him.  That hope had been crushed immediately, upon seeing his beautiful face, savagely cut by shrapnel from the accident.  His beard had been meticulously shaved off by someone at the hospital, possibly for hygienic reasons.

He laid his hand on Sjin's arm.  He flinched, not having expected how _cold_ he'd be.  He kept his hand on him, though, imagining Sjin being insulted that he had flinched away.

"Hey...  h-hey, Sjin."

That was all he managed to say before he choked up.  The tears came streaming, non-stop, and he was certain he had forgotten how to breathe.

His friends stood by the door, watching him carefully, not wanting to interrupt, but still keeping an eye in case he needed them.

His voice broke as he uttered the last words Sjin would ever hear from him:  "Please come back, Sjin."

And he broke down, leaning his forehead to Sjin's cold shoulder, his tears continuing to run down his face and onto Sjin's skin.  Gasps and whimpers escaped his throat whenever his body reminded itself it needed to breathe, and he felt a major headache coming on due to all the crying.

His friends looked away.  They had no right to be a part of this.  Sips needed this, needed to mourn the loss of his friend and lover, needed to express his emotions through raw, animalistic instinct.  Smith had turned around; Trott had left the room; Ross had leaned his forehead to the doorframe, staring intensely at it, as if it was the most interesting thing he could find at the moment.

Sips eventually ended up on the floor, his forehead to his knees, his arms around his legs, howling with grief.

* * *

 

By the time he had finished, he sat against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him, his head leaned back, staring at the ceiling.  No more sounds escaped him but the faint breathing that indicated he was still alive, if ever so barely.

He felt dead.  He felt like dying.  He wanted to die alongside Sjin so they wouldn't be apart.  His head pounding, he finally knew what was going on.

Acceptance.

Sjin wasn't going to survive.  It wasn't just improbable; it was impossible.  Sjin would die during the night, and Sips would never see him again.

No more waking up to find his beautiful boyfriend already up and at it.  No more disgustingly spicy meals for dinner.  No more looking into his beautiful eyes as they were intimate together.  Never ever hearing him laugh again, never ever hearing his stupid voice, never ever see his smile again.

Sips wanted to keep crying, but he felt empty.  He didn't feel like a human being anymore.  He was an empty shell.  He couldn't move.  He could only stare at the ceiling, as the sounds of things he didn't recognise played around him.  He paid it no attention.

It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he realised his friends had tried to talk to him.  He looked up into Trott's tired, depressed face.  He had said something.  What had he said?

"Do you want to get out of here?" he repeated, his voice deep and soft, almost soothing to Sips' ears.  "You need some fresh air."

Without a word, Sips grabbed onto Trott's hand, and Trott helped him up to his feet.

With a last glance at his dying boyfriend, Sips mentally said farewell, and he left the hospital with his friends.

* * *

 

Sjin died that night.  He went out with a grotesque coughing fit before collapsing back onto the bed, lifeless.  The hospital called Sips to let him know, and Sips thanked them.  After he hung up, he collapsed onto the floor again, howling with grief, and Trott once again went up to him to hug him.

They returned to the hospital, and they were given permission to give a proper farewell to Sjin, who had been cleaned and dressed up nicely.

Sips refused.  He didn't want to see his boyfriend lifeless.  He'd rather remember him as the lively dork he'd known before, than as a dead piece of meat in a suit.

He funeral took place a few days later.  It went by so fast that Sips didn't really remember much from it.  He remembered feeling numb, alternating between sobbing quietly and forcing himself to be stone-faced.  He received condolences from everyone, but he barely took any notice of it.  He remembered seeing certain acquaintances:  Kim had been there, and so had Minty.  Nilesy.  His friend John.  Some Swedish guy.

He felt numb.

It was over.

Sjin was no more.

The happiest moment of his life had been taken away from him, and it took no more than three days.

It was unfair.

* * *

 

He had visited Sjin's grave late at night, intoxicated, conversing with the gravestone as if it were Sjin.

He expressed how much he missed him, how much he loved him, and how much he hated the world.  He sobbed loudly and leaned against the gravestone, as if it would somehow resemble the feel of Sjin's skin.  It didn't.

"I miss you so much, Sjin," he said, trying to ignore the snot running down his face.  "I don't understand...  why you?  You're the sweetest piece of shit that ever walked this planet."  He hiccuped.  "If... if anyone should have died, it should have been me."

He wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Will I see you again if I die, too, Sjin?  I want to see you again.  I want to talk to you again, I want to hear your voice, your stupid laugh, and I want to hold you and kiss you...  Can I do that with you when I die?"

He sat down, staring at the soil that covered the ashes of his dead lover.

"I want to die, too, Sjin."

Now, whether he'd imagined it or not, he saw a misty figure emerge from behind the gravestone.  It was as if Sjin himself had decided to put a stop to Sips' train of thoughts.

There was a stern look on the apparition's familiar face.  The normally friendly face that Sips had seen so many times before.

" _Move on,_ " came the whisper.  The air around them had become cold.  " _I love you.  Don't let this kill you._ "

Sips let out a nervous laugh.  A blink of an eye later, the apparition had gone.  Sips was left with a feeling of... what?  Relief?  Unease?  Horror?  Joy?  It was an emotion he'd never felt before, and there were no words that could properly describe it.

He was still devastated, broken, depressed beyond words.  But he no longer felt empty.


End file.
